Making Bets
by kidenagain
Summary: kid!fic. After a day of increasingly stupid bets, Puck and Finn share their first kiss.


"Blow in it," Finn says again around a mouthful of potato chips. "That's how you get it to work."

With his back towards him, Puck knows Finn can't see hm roll his eyes, but he does it anyway just for the satisfaction. "Blow in what?" he mumbles, annoyed, turning the GameCube on and off again. "It's not a cartridge, dummy. It uses discs."

"Blow in it," Finn says for the third time.

Snapping the disc out of the console, Puck half turns towards Finn, narrowing his eyes as he blows across the reflective surface. "There," he says smugly, ignoring the look on Finn's face and pushing the game back into the machine. "Wow look at that, dude, it still doesn't work."

Finn sighs and slides off the couch and onto the floor next to Puck, the snack bags ruffling and spilling crumbs all over the living room rug. "You see," he says, kneeling next to Puck and leaning in close, "the little glass thing. You should blow on it. Or wipe it, or something. Sometimes it gets dirty." He reaches out for it, his thumb getting closer and closer to the lense, sticking his tongue out and biting with concentration.

"Don't touch it," Puck groans, elbowing him away. "You're a dirtball and covered with chip grease."

"I'm not," Finn protests lamely, wiping his hands on his shorts. "You're a dirtball."

"So?" Puck grins, wagging his eyebrows until Finn laughs. "We're both dirtballs."

Shoving at him, Finn rolls away towards the couch, grabbing the bag of chips as he goes. Growing boys have to eat is what Finn's mom says all the time, and Puck figures if he keeps going like this he's going to wind up freakishly tall. Like one of those talking trees or whatever. Which would be pretty cool, actually, at least they'd get around town faster.

"Maybe it's the wires in the back?" Puck thinks aloud.

"Maybe it's because you're stupid," Finn says, laughter in his voice.

"Maybe if you say that again I'm going to kick your ass."

"Maybe you could try, buttface."

Before Puck can respond to Finn's pathetic comeback, the GameCube starts up and he gives out a shout of victory, grabbing the first player controller before Finn even sits up. Because that's just the way it is. He's Mario, Finn's Luigi. Just because they aren't playing Mario Bros doesn't make it less true. And anyway, Finn's so used to it he only pouts for a second before scrambling for the other controller, bringing the bag of chips along with him.

"So how about this, dude," Puck says, tapping the controller against his chin, "if I win this round, you have to..."

"Hey," Finn protests. "Why do I have to do something?"

"Because I'm better than you at everything, and doing stuff is like, your punishment for sucking so much."

"Jerk," Finn says, smiling as he punches Puck half-heartedly in the shoulder.

"Mom is going to kill me," Finn says, licking the chocolate off his fingers. "She told us not to make a mess."

"So we'll clean up," Puck shrugs, looking around the room, suddenly aware that idea would be a lot easier said than done. Bags of chips, empty cookie boxes, cans of soda tipped over onto the carpet. Finn was right, Carole was going to kill him. Them, most likely. But Puck couldn't really bring himself to care.

He'd been kicking Finn's butt all afternoon. And the prize for his total awesomeness was that Finn was forced to do increasingly stupider things - from prank calling the neighbors to walking around the block in his mother's heels. He felt on fire. Completely untouchable.

"I'm gonna win this time," Finn says, scrunching his face up determinedly. He always calls it his game face, but Puck - and all the other boys on their pee wee team - kind of just think it makes him look constipated. "I'm going to murder you."

"Sure you are."

"Seriously," he says, scooting closer to the television. "I'm going to destroy you with Bob-ombs and Triple Shells."

Puck hums in agreement, mostly because his victories are always a lot sweeter when Finn thinks he actually has a shot at winning. "I know you are, dude. This is totally your moment."

It's not five minutes later that Finn is standing at the front door, arms crossed and trying to draw a line.

"I'm not doing it."

"You have to do it," Puck says, nudging him in the side. "It's the rules. You lose, you have to do the thing."

"I'm not making out with Mrs. Benjamin's dog," Finn says tersely. "That's too gross. You're gross for even thinking it."

"And you're a giant baby for not doing it," Puck says. "Anyway, dog's mouths are cleaner, right? Also, Mrs. Benjamin's dog is just like you, dummy. Just eats and pees and makes lots of yappy noises."

"Ha, ha."

"Here's the thing," Puck says, slinging an arm around Finn's shoulders. "You make out with the pug or you have to kiss something else. Something even grosser."

"The only thing grosser than that dog is you," Finn responds around a laugh.

"So there you go," he says, slapping Finn on the back. "Kiss Mr. Huffs or you gotta kiss me. A big sloppy one, right here."

"Stop it," Finn chuckles, pushing Puck - and his kissy noises - away with a hand on his face. "You're a freak."

"Come on, dude. Me or the pug. Those are your only choices. Or I'm going to tell everyone in school you made out with the dog."

"Yeah but -."

"Yeah but if you actually make out with the dog, I won't tell anyone."

"That doesn't make any sense," Finn says, narrowing his eyes.

Puck just shrugs.

"Okay," Finn nods. Grabbing Puck's wrist, he pulls him back into the house and slams the door, hustling them both into the living room to sit on the floor again. "I pick you."

Puck takes a deep breath, filling his cheeks, then blows it out slowly. Sure, he gave Finn the option, but he hadn't really imagined he'd actually choose him over the dog. Though, thinking about it now, it seems kind of obvious. Mr. Huffs is really gross. And at least Finn knows that Puck more or less brushes his teeth everyday.

"Wait, like real making out or just a kiss like I kiss my mom goodnight?"

"Dude, I don't know. I wanted to see tongue with the dog but now -."

Now he's not really sure what he wants. The only thing he really knows is he always thought his first kiss would be with the girl who lives down the street from him, who likes to yell whenever he rings the bell on his bicycle under her bedroom window. But now it looks like it's going to be Finn. With his goofy hair and face, his hands sticky with sugar when he reaches out for Puck's wrists again, pulling him closer.

"Okay," Finn says, putting back on that stupid game face. "I'm just going to -."

Puck watches, frozen, as Finn closed his eyes and begins to lean towards him. And oh, my God. Finn's going to do it. They are going to kiss, and -

Finn kisses his cheek, sits back and laughs, shaking his head. "I missed," he says, grinning.

Puck smiles despite himself. There's worse people, he figures, to share his first kiss with. And anyway, Finn seems surprisingly okay with it - so maybe it's not that big of a deal. It's not like they're ever going to tell anyone. It's practice. A stupid bet that's all.

When he reaches out to touch Finn's face the laughter immediately dies out and then Finn's looking at him again, those big eyes on him and yeah, this is totally doable, he thinks. So he moved a little closer, right into Finn's space, and closes the distance between their lips.

Finn's mouth is sticky and when Puck pushes his tongue against the seam and Finn parts his lips a little, he tastes like chocolate and orange soda. On instinct, or something, Puck thinks he wants to get deeper, to feel Finn's tongue too. To see if the taste gets stronger the further inside he goes. But Finn laughs again, a rush of breath right into Puck's mouth and he backs away, swiping his hand across his face and laughing with him.

"Good job, stupid," Puck says, shoving him.

"But I did it, right?" Finn says, his eyes bright as he smiles. "So you're not going to tell anyone?"

"Nope," Puck agrees. "Your weirdo secrets are safe with me."

Finn's house is a lot more welcoming at bedtime than his. Most of the time his new baby sister is awake and crying. His mother has to stay up half the night swinging her around or patting her on the back and Puck winds up missing a lot of sleep. But it's always quiet at the Hudson's - besides the steady breathing coming from Finn's bed and the hum of the night-light Puck pretends he doesn't notice.

Because that's what best friends do for each other.

Just like Puck isn't going to tell anyone about the kiss. And not just because kissing other boys is gross and wrong, like his mother says (even though it felt pretty okay and Finn looked kind of, well, cute afterwards, but whatever, he's really trying not to think about that). But because, well -

Just because.

Shifting around, Puck sighs, punching his pillow and then collapsing against it again. Finn's house is awesome, but the floor is absolutely not. But it was his stupid idea to sleep there. A month ago he'd decided that two dudes in one bed was kind of, you know, gay, and that maybe they were too old for it now. Finn had made a face at him like he was crazy, and Puck was starting to think that maybe he was.

Looking back up towards the bed, he could see the spiky tail of Finn's stuffed dinosaur, illuminated by the streetlight coming through the window. Up there, Puck knew, Finn's bed was soft and comfortable. Cozy.

And it felt really stupid, now, to worry about sleeping in the same bed when earlier they were kissing.

Puck lifts himself up to his knees, peering up on the bed, only to find Finn staring back at him. His eyes big like an owl's in the dark.

"Can't sleep?" he asks, tugging idly on Finn's sheets.

"Feels weird sleeping before my mom gets home," Finn whispers.

"Would it -," Puck starts then stops, feeling silly. "I mean, if you need me to sleep up there with you because you're a huge baby, I will."

Finn immediately moves over, making room for him on the bed, so Puck grabs his pillow and climbs up, settling next to him face to face.

"I dare you to make out with the dinosaur," Finn says, practically giggling, shoving his stuffed animal against Puck's face. "Go ahead. You know you wanna."

"I totally do," Puck grins, grabbing it and licking across it's cottony face.

"You're gross," Finn says, snatching it back and tucking it under his arm. "Don't touch my stuff, freak."

"Go to sleep, dork," Puck mumbles, his face half hidden in a pillow.

He thinks to say something, to push Finn away, when he shifts closer, pressing their knees together over the blankets. But it doesn't feel bad - nothing ever feels bad with Finn - so instead he lies there in the dark until he can hear the deep, even breathing that tells him Finn's already asleep, then closes his eyes.


End file.
